


Glimpses

by the_never_was



Series: Denouement [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, Family Drama, Friendship, Gen, Godfatherhood, Humor, M/M, Marriage, Other, Post-War, Romance, Self-Growth, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-04 20:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12778437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_never_was/pseuds/the_never_was
Summary: Glimpses of Draco's life after the epilogue ofDenouementas a gift to all of you for supporting the story.Enjoy these one-shots, please.





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> glimpses  
> ɡlim(p)s/Submit  
> noun  
> noun: glimpse; plural noun: glimpses  
> 1.  
> a momentary or partial view.  
> "she caught a glimpse of the ocean"  
> synonyms: brief look, quick look; More  
> verb  
> verb: glimpse; 3rd person present: glimpses; past tense: glimpsed; past participle: glimpsed; gerund or present participle: glimpsing  
> 1.  
> see or perceive briefly or partially.  
> "he glimpsed a figure standing in the shade"  
> synonyms: catch sight of, notice, discern, spot, spy, sight, pick out, make out;  
> archaic  
> shine or appear faintly or intermittently.  
> (Google)
> 
> All characters/Hogwarts, etc., belong to J.K. Rowling.

 

 

i

 

 

His feet walk a path he has before, down ghostly halls of wardens and screams and echoes of black floating monstrosities long gone. Not much has changed, if anything, within these walls except himself.

He's older now. Wiser. Beloved for years.

In some way this walk is pointless. It's pointless and hopeless and empty, like the eyes of the men and women he passes banging on bars.

Yet, here he goes. Yet here he must be, if only to silence his own thoughts.

And when he steps before the cell he's walked towards, he takes a single breath and waits.

Draco knows he stands more composed than he had the last time he was here. He's stunning in his gorgeous suit of black on black. His hair is perfectly waved from his brow, his grey eyes glittering with eagerness for the events of this day. His face has matured, slender along the jaw, and like the man hiding in the shadow before him, he's finally grown to deal with the happenstance of stubble later than most. He has shaved it this morning, smooth as a prince ought to be.

“Father,” he murmurs gently, as if it is routine to do. As if he's been doing so the past three years when he certainly hasn't.

Lucius Malfoy does not rush up to greet him this time as he had the last. He does not hold Draco's hand eagerly, and he does not look at him with such relief again.

He sits upon that bed still chained to the wall, looking hollower, fragile, and with thinner pale hair than before.

Draco swallows the bitter taste of disappointment again. He's not surprised, of course not, but he cannot deny the bit of himself that had _hoped_ , no matter the refusal of his letters...or the eventual acceptance of them, but never a response in turn.

“I hope you are well,” Draco begins, knowing he has little time.

Lucius says nothing. Just closes his tired, lined eyes that look so different from even the last time he'd seen them. For not only is he the man fighting his own lies and holding tightly to his image as he always will, but Lucius is also now the man broken by the shallowness of his own ego. By Draco's choices and changing of the family image publicly over the last years, stupidly broken by it when he could be proud like Narcissa is. Like Draco is.

Alas.

Draco blinks, shoves his left hand in his trouser pocket, and fondles the single parchment there left upon his pillow from that morning. Draco knows the words by heart already in the space of two hours, the promise of the green ink still used by his other half imparting his excitement and eagerness and nervous love.

“Mother tells me you've been taking the letters I write you. At least you have the better part of this year. It's a relief.”

Silence, but it's not empty anymore.

Lucius has opened his eyes upon the floor, tilting his face just so to convey that he is _listening_.

“There's something I wanted to share with you. I've not been writing about it,” Draco says, exhaling with his fingers still touching the parchment for the little bit of steadiness.

When Lucius doesn't move, gives no further indications of consideration, Draco sighs.

He looks about him a moment, then smirks. “I suppose I don't quite have to say it, though, do I? All you have to do is look at me.”

The trick works.

Lucius's grey eyes slide to the left to stare briefly, raking him in, observing the suit tailored just for Draco for this day. It is so, so close to one Lucius himself wore once. His father sees the black engagement ring he's kept upon his finger since Harry's proposal.

And quietly Lucius exhales, his darker brows sliding upward softly.

Draco nods once and says, “I'm getting married today, Father.”

Lucius almost smiles. He almost softens entirely. But then there is _remembrance_ and recollection, and the lightness falls away back into shadowy loss and disappointment as his father withdraws.

“I know you're angry with me. I know you're angry with him,” Draco speaks, compelled by just that glimpse he's gotten. “No matter your reasons, know this—I've done well these last years. I've been successful in many ways. And now I'm taking another step in life. I'm choosing my path and keeping on it.”

His father turns his face away more, grimacing just enough to be seen.

Draco snorts, rolls his eyes, and taps his foot. “Well. At least I can tell Mother I did you the _honor_ of telling you in person, as she asked.”

There's a scowl, then. No doubt annoyance at Narcissa's insistence, as she's been Draco's advocate the last years.

Draco pulls out his pocket watch just for the occasion, one his grandfather had, and checks the time. He has to be back in the Manor within the hour, and he knows he must be early as possible lest Hermione has a _very_ pregnant conniption over it. Merlin knows she's had a practical _leash_ on Harry all week. It's Harry's fault, anyway. He let her plan it all.

He slides the pocket watch down and with a soft wave turns away, jaw slightly locked, face a little tight at the rejection even on this day, but he thinks of the green eyes waiting for him. Thinks of the sun that has brightened his life.

Draco moves, but pauses at the soft gasp of his name.

His nerves feel frozen, his legs feel stuck, and his heart is beating harshly in his chest.

“Draco,” his father calls again weakly. Tiredly.

He revolves, face tilted, and watches Lucius fold his hands together upon that bed between his knees. He notes the multitude of emotions rushing across his father's face as Lucius tries to say _something_.

Draco waits nervously. Sadly.

But Lucius doesn't speak. He can't, still, it seems.

Draco blinks back moisture in his eyes, nodding to himself. He'd expected this or something like it, after all.

Just as he goes to leave again, though, he hears the words so quietly spoken that he almost thinks he's conjured them in his own mind.

Draco gazes at his father with understanding maturity and sees Lucius look back to him, noticing it, too, and his father repeats his words, “Something in your eye, my son. Even now, it is still so different.”

“I've grown.”

“Yes...that you have. No boy any longer, by the look of you.”

“Not at all.”

Lucius huffs and rubs his chin. “You look the part, Draco. The young, mature heir.”

“I don't even live there, you know,” he drawls, catching some slight amusement from his father's eyes. “Harry and I live together elsewhere. I like my boundaries as they are now. The Manor still feels like you, and our home is _our_ home quite nicely.”

Lucius's dislike of his sexuality is not something Draco has ever coddled or given validation. But Draco was raised to respect image, and he does. It's the only thing he can _give_ his father to show he still loves the man despite his own broken hope over it all.

“Yet you're to wed in it, I hear.”

“Of course. Tradition.”

There's a dark sneer. “Mm. And will you follow through that tradition in its entirety, too, Draco? Will you sully the Manor the way one of your great-uncles has?”

Draco laughs. He's gone through records out of curiosity the past years and read of said great-uncle's foray of fucking another wizard the night he wedded a Pureblood witch, getting caught by a grandfather who severely punished him as a result.

“No. Fuck no,” he grunts. “Harry and I are taking portkey elsewhere for a fortnight.”

“Good,” Lucius says, clearly relieved at the insinuation.

Draco arches a brow, not relenting at all. “Doesn't mean I've not shagged him at the Manor before.”

Lucius winces and looks away, continually disgusted. Disturbed.

He shrugs, well recalling his father's words about being bent like a woman. “I don't care if you'll never approve of Harry and I...or of Harry himself. He's to be your legal son-in-law, regardless. What scandal. Shame no one even cares anymore for you to enjoy your horror with them.”

His father looks almost green for a moment, even through his anger. “Must you marry him, Draco? Should you change your mind, we're left with this ridiculous mess to salvage our name among the Purebloods who have stayed true to our ways.”

“Oh fuck them. I'm not changing my mind. I'm _gay_ , Father, and I love him. He's my choice,” Draco counters, arms crossing. “And our name is doing fine. I donate to the right charities, Harry and I appear at some events to please crowds, and the _Prophet_ eats it up.”

“Tragic,” Lucius replies, hand over his eyes.

“Only you see it as such.”

“And only you cannot see what you're losing by doing so, Draco. You're going to continue this farce today, robbing yourself the chance of an heir. If you _must_ keep that blasted Potter around, do it elsewhere in this 'home' of yours and marry a woman who will tolerate it, who will, if you're lucky enough, agree to bear you a child despite where your cock has apparently been,” Lucius hisses condescendingly. “One hopes you keep it _clean_.”

“I _like_ where my cock has been, thanks ever so much, and _yes_ , it's clean,” Draco snaps, jaw aching from being held so tightly. “Maybe I'd rather never put a child through these ridiculous societal standards, too. Maybe I don't even want children. Maybe Harry and I could adopt. I have no fucking idea, Father. Besides, we've cousins enough. I can name an heir among them that's worthy, if necessary.”

“Half those relatives are no longer welcome in our family, and the rest will have nothing to do with you because of this. And any who do, anyone of us who claims to care...you're a bloody fool, Draco, if you will believe any of their support to be genuine. Anyone's support of this in our circle.”

His own sneer is well crafted after the one sent his way, and it delivers _better_ , he thinks, as he lifts a hand over his crossing arms in gesture. “Oh, sure. You _must_ be right. Zabini's support is entirely fake, which is why he'll be present today. Or Pansy's. She's not bickered at me over the reception all month for nothing. Or even Greg wanting to attend—it's all so false, isn't it. I've had to turn _down_ people wanting to come to this to keep it private, lest everything be front page of the _Prophet_ or _Witch Weekly_ by morning.”

“You are the flavor of the time, and nothing more. The second you step outside what they wish, they'll turn, and you'll be the Death Eater you were.” Lucius pauses with a frown and exhales quietly, whispering, “You'll be _my_ son again.”

Draco glares, feels his temple throb, and takes a second to remind himself that coming here today was _meant_ to be a good thing. An extension of mature respect on his part, no matter what. It's what he'd convinced Harry of this morning, right? And that had taken an _hour_ to do.

“I'm _still_ your son, even now,” Draco hotly reminds Lucius. “My future spouse does not change that for me, and if it does for you, then you can _rot_ in here without letters and be as fucking forgotten as you wish. I've _no_ problem with it.”

It's only as he stands there, breathing rapidly, that he replays the last sentence his father spoke in his head. And it's only as he stands there, breathing stopping suddenly, that he feels the smallest bit of acceptance.

Miracle of miracles. His mother _has_ really been coming and shoving the knowledge into his Father's brain that Lucius's own actions and reputation have affected Draco's life negatively for a long while.

Whether Lucius agrees or not, Draco isn't entirely certain.

Saying it this way, nonetheless, is...unexpected.

But his father doesn't seem angry at his outburst. If anything, there's an odd glint of humor in Lucius's eye, and the _tiniest_ bit of complex pride that no one else will understand.

Draco stares at his father, shocked by its visibility.

“He will not take our name,” Lucius finally says. “If you _must_ have him, he will remain a Potter.”

Ironically, it makes Draco snicker. He and Harry have had this talk, and Lucius would likely be rather surprised at how much he and Harry honestly agree on this point.

“He isn't, nor am I taking his,” Draco explains, much to his father's relief. “We're rather settled in our identities and fine without that.”

“Inside my study—the locked drawer of the desk,” Lucius says, swallowing roughly and shifting to view the floor. “Take it. Your mother tells me you've avoided wearing it, but you're running the Manor well enough by all accounts. And with me here.... I.... Just take it.”

Draco's lip trembles, his arm with the snake and skull shakes a little as he grasps again for the parchment, thumb rolling over the underside of the ring Harry gave him.

Lucius simply glances to him once.

Draco replies to the silence. “If you're certain, then I will wear it from now on. Just don't expect me to change.”

Lucius finally smiles. Just a little hint of one.

It's a small step. It's as far as his father can ever go.

And Draco turns away, leaving this time, with not so much as a farewell or a congratulations from Lucius Malfoy. It hurts, and his own lack of farewell at this point is simply him moving as Harry still says he does.

But Draco Malfoy doesn't leave Azkaban empty handed.

When he portkeys back to the Manor's grounds, he avoids the small crowd gathering in the west of the home and quietly slips around halls and wings to his father's study.

He breaks the seal on the desk the way Lucius had showed him during the Dark Lord's stay.

And when Hermione's Patronus comes swimming into the room, the otter batting about his legs in annoyance, Draco snickers down at it and strides to follow, a new ring—the Manor Lord's ring—on his right hand.

 

 

 


	2. ii-iv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait; I literally rewrote all of this like three times (pages' worth of changes, entire sections switched out, etc.) in files, and that was with a horrific flight, pets in cargo, and jet lag and fever. Ugh.
> 
> So please, for my sanity, enjoy this for me and have some emotions, humor, and smut.  
> [Everyone wins.]  
> :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> glimpses  
> ɡlim(p)s/Submit  
> noun  
> noun: glimpse; plural noun: glimpses  
> 1.  
> a momentary or partial view.  
> "she caught a glimpse of the ocean"  
> synonyms: brief look, quick look; More  
> verb  
> verb: glimpse; 3rd person present: glimpses; past tense: glimpsed; past participle: glimpsed; gerund or present participle: glimpsing  
> 1.  
> see or perceive briefly or partially.  
> "he glimpsed a figure standing in the shade"  
> synonyms: catch sight of, notice, discern, spot, spy, sight, pick out, make out;  
> archaic  
> shine or appear faintly or intermittently.  
> (Google)
> 
> All characters/Hogwarts, etc., belong to J.K. Rowling.

 

 

 

ii

 

 

 

Between Luna's creativity, Hermione's direction, and Narcissa's own taste, the small paddock that once was home to Sev and the few alternating thestrals is decorated beautifully with twinkling lights, sashes of silks draping in silvers and blacks, soft greens and reds.

A multitude of people sit with warming charms in the lightly falling snow, including the entire Weasley family occupying the majority of the right side. Some bubbles pop into the air from a little bottle held by one George Weasley, releasing a wonderful warm and _benign_ fragrance. Molly Weasley still gives the odd bottle a good sniff, regardless, her watchful eyes on her son with intent.

Neville sits up front on the right, and across from him on the left is Pansy Parkinson patting Greg Goyle's shoulder as she assures him that, yes, Draco's still quite sane even if there is a pack of Weasleys at the Manor. Blaise Zabini smirks behind them, a dark elegant hand over Ginny Weasley's thigh, his eyes catching her own smirk, too.

Narcissa has the inner most front left chair, and she is beautiful in her winter cloak and robes. Teddy Lupin sits next to her, little legs swinging on his chair; he's become quite familiar with Narcissa at the Manor and with Draco upon visits to 12 Grimmauld Place to see his godfather Harry. Teddy has his cute moments, Draco knows, but he doesn't have the same closeness with the boy that Harry truly does, and that's fine. It makes him happier when he pretends to read while watching them play about instead.

Andromeda Tonks sits on Teddy's other side, and the polite, enforced bridging over Harry and Draco's bond has gradually begun to have the sisters speaking more. Draco talks often with his once lost aunt and sighs now, hearing Andromeda and his mother remark together about the lovely arch.

The busy Headmistress McGonagall sits in the far back with Hagrid, chatting away pleasantly. She's managed to Floo in safely, but Hagrid had to take his bike, and both Draco and Narcissa had winced upon hearing its motor that morning.

And at the front, Draco stands to the side of the lovely arching altar of light and moving, Transfigured stars, thanks to Luna's insistence. Even now she continues to insist and gets her way while tugging at his tie and making it perfect for him.

“If I choke, I blame you,” he grunts with a cocked brow.

“If you choke, it's because Harry looks as lovely as I'm sure he does.”

Draco flushes. “Hush, little rabbit.”

Luna grins, steps up to kiss his cheek as he bends for her, and stands beside him. “I'm glad for you this day, Draco Malfoy.”

As he looks about, blinking small bits of snow from his eyes that make it through the large, thin umbrella charm over the crowd, he's glad, too.

“Thank you,” he whispers to her while still looking forward.

“You're quite welcome,” she gently whispers back.

There's some soft music, some violin, and a very round Hermione makes her careful way with a watching, grunting, pleading Ron Weasley to the front until she's sat down next to a quickly moving, running Molly Weasley to flutter about her.

Draco makes sure Hermione's settled safely, a greeting teasing sneer on his face just for her to attempt to return as they've done ritually for years now, and then Weasley steps up and stands across from Luna.

Draco stares at him, nerves jumping and turning into gripe. “Weasel, _where_ is he? If he got cold feet after his own bloody desire to do this, I'll _kill_ him.”

“He's coming. Said there was one last thing he was trying to do. I dunno,” Ron shrugs, and Draco accepts the words at face value with that Weasley attitude of _eh, just go with it_.

Heads turn, and Draco's follows, his jaw dropping, too.

Harry strides towards him, gorgeous in black with a deep green vest that matches his eyes.

Draco's heart clenches, his stomach following with the fire going straight to his groin.

Harry is so beautiful walking towards him in confidence and without any second thoughts, but Harry is not alone. He carries, to the side in his arms, the portrait of Severus Snape sitting in what once was a pasture scene with a gilded frame from one of the Manor's rooms.

The smile that crosses Draco's lips is so pure that it almost breaks him for a moment as Harry draws close enough for Draco to see the arched brow Severus's portrait gives him in greeting.

“Thought you'd like him here. A father who loved you no matter what,” Harry whispers, eyeing Draco to be sure he hadn't just done something wrong inadvertently.

“You'll have your hands full of sentimentality with this one, Draco, and I cannot say I pity you,” Severus says, smirking at him from the canvas. “Must it be Potter?”

Draco reaches out, fingers touching the frame, and he smirks back. “I'm afraid it must. I can deal with his adorable nonsense, even if it gets ridiculous at times.”

Severus just nods while Harry throws them both an annoyed look.

Draco takes the portrait and hands it to his mother, watching Narcissa and Severus glance to one another with a silent mutual hello while she spells it to float beside her.

Then Harry is there next to him, and Draco takes the hands reaching for his.

They simply stare at one another, both mirthful, both nervous and still in shock any of it's happening at all.

A short little wizard from the Ministry coughs behind them, and they turn, both smiling like fools to hear him speak.

Draco honestly tunes out most of it—romantic words, welcoming phrases to guests, and the like. He cares far more for the next bits, and as excited as he is to hear Harry's vows to him, Draco's stomach is rolling with nervousness at the idea of speaking his own. He doesn't want anyone else but Harry to hear them, of course, but he won't deny Harry them in this moment. Not if it means getting that awful knowing compulsive look from _everyone_.

“Which of you would like to speak first, out of our two grooms?” the wizard asks, smiling with his rather red, naturally rosy cheeks.

Harry clears his throat and nods to Draco as he grabs for Draco's bare left hand; the engagement ring rests in his pocket with that parchment from before, and Draco's heart thuds in his chest at the possession in Harry's touch that's always there as he slides on a new ring, a gorgeous silver band.

It's reflecting in Harry's green eyes, too, along with that famous love of his.

“Draco,” Harry begins, blowing out some breath in his own adorable nervousness. “I know that at first this wasn't something you felt we should do...you didn't think it necessary for us. And I guess, in a way, it isn't. But like I told you when I proposed, it isn't about _necessity_ or being different or like any other couple we know—it's about proving to you what I want. Forever.”

Draco blinks, remembering a letter he wrote his mother so long ago when he, too, said he'd wanted forever, but had been afraid imposing that on Harry himself in his worries of things lasting or not. And now...now he knows the concepts aren't so mutually exclusive as he'd once thought.

There's some disturbingly emotional cooing coming from the Weasley section, and Draco almost rolls his eyes at what is likely a combination of Molly Weasley and an emotional Hermione making silly, pursing lipped faces at them where they stand.

Harry snickers, thumb rubbing over Draco's hand. “Do you remember when I said you never just submit? That we always stand equal, even if for a long time you didn't see it that way? Back then...it wasn't that I was all good and you were all bad. It was that I was visibly seen and accepted in a way you weren't, and that never stopped you being one of the _very_ few people to speak my faults to my face. To keep me level, even if you were a total prat doing it.”

Draco cocks a brow smoothly. “Well, someone had to. Glad to be of service.”

“Shush,” Harry laughs, making everyone else chuckle around them. “Regardless, Draco, I...when I was little, I used to wonder where my place would be. I would wonder if anyone would ever show me kindness, would ever show me _love_. And as I got slightly older and made true friends, I then wondered who could complete me in the way they couldn't. It's you, Draco. It's _always_ been you. I wish I'd seen it for what it was sooner. I wish I'd understood, wish you had, wish we both could have grown this way all those years instead of through the pain.”

Grey eyes close to keep the desperate moisture in, hidden away from the rest of the pairs presently staring at his hot face.

“Even so...I love you, Draco Malfoy,” Harry teases, and his eyes open once more, taking in that wondrous acceptance in Harry's gaze. “I love everything about you, even when I want to throttle you some days.”

Draco smiles broadly, entirely reciprocating that sentiment while the crowd laughs.

“You make me better. Stronger. I'm in a career I love because of _your_ encouragement, I have a home I never thought would feel so warm or my own, and I have the family I never thought I would. _You_ are my family before anyone else. That's why I asked you, and that's why you telling me yes was both the most terrifying and happiest moment of my life. Nothing I've ever faced was as scary as waiting for you to answer me.”

“Scarier than a Dark Lord, Potter?” Draco winks, getting some snickers. “At least I have a nose.”

“A very nice one,” Harry agrees, grinning. “And Draco...I'm excited because I know I can look forward to all these years without worry. Just let me do one thing, always, okay?”

“Dare I ask?” Draco questions, skeptical and humored.

And Potter just tilts his face and whispers softly, “Let me always be your sun—let me always protect what I love, even if it annoys you sometimes.”

Draco feels the choking in his throat, feels his tie trying to kill him like he'd warned that silly Ravenclaw, and he nods. It's all he _can_ do.

The little wizard coughs again and nods his head towards Draco now. “And, for you, Lord of the Manor? Have you some vows for your groom?”

Draco blows out a breath, just like Harry had before, and tries his best to mentally focus on Harry to the point that everything else, everyone else, melts away.

His grey eyes rapidly roam Harry's face, seeing scar and warmth, skin he knows so well and emotions as at the surface as his own. He's shaking a little in his grip on that reassuring hand as the prepared words fly from his fucking mind with his stupid luck.

A bit shaken by it all, he stands proudly nonetheless and smirks, “Do you have any idea how much you fluster me, Potter? I've lost every word I planned, and now I have to look like _shit_ in front of everyone. You _know_ it drives me mad when you do that, and unlike this crowd, I know you did it on purpose.”

The laughter that erupts from Harry across from him is loud, joyous, and immediately relaxing to Draco. Harry shrugs despite the whispers, and it is amusingly guilty.

“Merlin, Potter, this is so strange,” Draco swallows once and forces himself to just speak naturally, “I don't think you can even understand it. I never expected to be up here with anyone but a chosen witch, and I never expected to be happy. Yet here I am...standing here with you, the one who _does_ make me happy.”

Harry smiles in his now very familiar sad, yet happy way.

And Draco continues, fingers stroking Harry's, “Sometimes I think it's all a dream. It must be. How...how could any of this have happened? But you come home, or I wake up next to you, and it's there. So then I imagine if some poor fellow could travel back in time right now to, say, third year and tell me I'd one day be here...well, of course I'd tell them to bugger off, if not for dignity's sake, then simply for realistic thought, but it wouldn't mean that I wouldn't have sat alone after and been curious. Excited, even. Because despite how mad we drove each other, how...how dark it all did get, like you said with the pain, I still...I always....”

“I know,” Harry whispers, easing the ache in Draco's throat.

It almost hurts to speak and not just because of witnesses. It just all feels so raw suddenly.

But he pushes onward for Harry. He must.

“If there's one thing I've noticed about you, Harry, it's that you inspire courage in others or, at the least, enhance their own,” Draco adds softly. Sincerely. “Over the years you've encouraged me plenty, sharing that Gryffindor bravery. Your words, your eyes, your hand in mine...always so full of that ridiculous courage, and I'm thankful, even if there are days when I want to throttle _you_ as well for it.”  
  
The lights above them warm Harry's face all the more with that knowing look sent his way. Harry bites his lip, green eyes suddenly quite wet.

“I may have had a house, but _you_ gave me a home. I might have had some semblance of a family, but _you_ proved to me that love is a strength and not a weakness.”

They stare one another down, and Harry doesn't even blink his tears away in the silence of the crowd or Draco's raging heartbeat. He slides the ring from his right pocket upon Harry's finger, glancing to the silver band matching his own. Harry trembles, blinks rapidly while staring at his own ring.

Draco reaches up with one hand and gently cups Harry's cheek, stroking the cheekbone like usual in this routine touch. Grey eyes are bold and wet, too, when Harry refocuses upon them.

“I love you, Harry, and I'll prove it by marrying you. I'll prove it by continuing to be there every night you come home, and I'll prove it by always throwing out the papers with the other rubbish,” Draco promises, smiling as Harry does with a small cough. “I'll be whatever they want to call me, be it the snake corrupting you or the lucky bloke bound to you forever, because I know the truth—I'm not riding your coattails for fame or glory, and I never have. I'm just the star lucky enough to be caught with yours.”

When the short wizard pronounces them wedded, Draco doesn't even let the poor man finish the words before he's hauled Harry to him by that hold on Potter's cheek and branded him in front of everyone with a deep, claiming kiss.

 

 

iii

 

 

At the later dinner, he endures the smirking claps on his shoulders from both Zabini and Greg, rolling his eyes as Pansy grabs at his chin between the other two Slytherins and teases, “So _touching_ , Draco. You're sweet as candy if Potter smiles at you all lovey.”

“Do shut up,” he groans, dreading more of this.

But Pansy Parkinson isn't deterred, even if she does let go of his chin. “And that _kiss_ of yours. Barely even pronounced and you snog him right there in front of _everyone_. I saw _tongue_ , Draco. So cheeky.”

Draco sighs, revisiting that kiss all over again in his mind for a moment. “So.”

“Just saying. It's actually _pleasant_ to see you smile like a happier Hufflepuff once in a while.”

“She's right, Draco. Not seen ya smile so much in years,” Goyle speaks up with a light shrug. “And...you know. It's a bit weird, I guess, knowin' you always, uh....”

Draco's face burns as he closes his eyes. “Merlin, can you all stop talking about it?”

“Not a chance, Malfoy. We _all_ heard those precious vows. You're a married man now,” Blaise snickers and knocks his shoulder. “The first of us.”

Draco arches his brow with a little sneer and glances around people to see Ginny Weasley challenging her brother George to a miniature drinking contest. She's winning, too. “Something tells me I might not be the only one of us with the affliction soon enough.”

Blaise blanches next to him. “No, no. I swore off it all with Mother's experiences. And just _no_.”

“She's a Pureblood, you prat,” Draco teases. “Not enough standard for marriage?”

Pansy cackles and pats Blaise on the wrist. “Oh, Draco. You don't even know. He's _tried_. She _won't_. Not yet. Career focused, and all, and more power to her, I say. Who needs you lot to survive all the time?”

Zabini gives Parkinson a slight shove with his growl and wounded ego, and Draco gives his friend a sympathetic glance. “Time, Blaise. And understanding. Patience beyond a muggle saint.”

“Don't remind me. I only even asked because Mother insisted if I court her this long, I might as well get on with giving her a grandchild.” Blaise smirks, but Draco can read his friend far better than that. He knows Zabini's been debating how to best ensnare his Gryffindor for good for at least a year now; he just hadn't heard about this attempt yet. Blaise continues, proudly, “Ginny's the only woman I've ever seen hold her own with my family and not ever flinch.”

Draco laughs, eyes on the many Weasleys briefly. “Well, of course. She's had six brothers, Blaise. Harry always said she could handle her own. I'm more concerned about _you_ with them.”

“I hold my own, I'll have you know. I'm just 'The Snake' still only when we bicker. At least Percy seems to understand. He likes more of...our ways. Figures himself a more posh fellow,” Blaise says, but his expression indicates exactly what he thinks of that figuring, too.

“Percy is a posing brat usually,” Draco agrees with the silent look. “But whatever helps with the pressure, I suppose, you little sell out.”

Blaise's brows rise up. “Me? You married _Harry Potter_. You're the _biggest_ sell out, Draco.”

Pansy chortles and snags a glass of champagne off a floating tray. “And we will never let you forget it.”

Oh, Draco knows. They've not let up in letters or dinners for the past three fucking years of them living together, and Harry's learned to cope by _joining_ in with them to tease him, too, the kind, accepting, clever fuck.

But Pansy's not done yet. She tones her voice to mimic his from years ago, spouting, “'Potter's so stupid. Potter's bloody tie isn't done right. Potter's _so_ annoying with his fucking friends. Who cares about his overrated scar? I sent Potter a charmed bird in class, you know, just with an awful sketch shocking him on a broom and all, nothing weird. Seriously, Pansy, it _wasn't_ a bloody love note! Do you think he hates the badges enough? Oh, oh, did you all see Potter evade that dragon! I suppose credit goes where it's due, even for a fucking Gryffindor.'”

Draco taps his foot while Blaise and Greg both laugh loudly. “Are you done, Pansy?”

She grins so evilly. So lovingly, too, in her manner. “Almost. You got even worse when you two took up dating, and I kept finding you with your damn trousers open in _the halls_ with him. That final week you disappeared half the time, showing back up at dinner all mussed like you'd just rolled around all over each other without shame. I remember it _all_ , Draco.”

Draco shrugs elegantly. “And? Good for me. The rest of you weren't so lucky that week.”

There's a snicker from his left, and Zabini murmurs, “I remember you wanting to go closet hunting at Slughorn's party, Draco. Bet you do now. Shame one must be at one's own wedding, I suppose.”

Draco licks his lip, still fucking thrilled with the knowledge of his marriage and excited for the evening. He nods his head Harry's direction. “Yeah, so. Look at him. Fucking gorgeous. The _most desired_ wizard in the country is _mine_ officially. Not like he's not been mine for years, but you try telling that to half the witches subscribed to _Witch Weekly_. Some of them adore us, some of them want my cock on a platter to roast in envy.”

“Oh, trust me, I'm _aware_. I've even read the trash simply for a laugh,” Blaise says casually with his usual bit of amusement at Draco now.

“Don't lie. You're subscribed and likely have been for years with guilty pleasure,” Draco drawls.

Blaise shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “Even at your wedding, you're a shit.”

“Closet hunting?” Goyle asks with belated confusion, no doubt still overwhelmed with the day's visuals. He's rarely gotten to see Draco over the years with his mother's health, sadly.

Zabini curls his lip. “Yeah, Goyle. Draco wants a shag in a closet when there's plenty of rooms in this entire fucking Manor. In his own _home_.”

“I never said it was practical before. I've only said it's fun,” Draco argues, hand lifting dismissively. He sighs with longing, muttering under his breath how the tight spaces and the dark make it all hotter.

Greg stares then, brows high.

“Boys!” Pansy calls, annoyed. “Merlin, it's like we never left Hogwarts.”

Greg chuckles, arms crossing. “Honestly glad I didn't have the pressure that year with you, but I get the stuff from my family to settle—from Uncle and Mum. Bit frustratin'.”

Pansy wraps an arm about Goyle's shoulders and winks. “I can _so_ talk to this witch in my department at the Ministry. I think you'll get on. You're both kind of...grunty, grumpy, yet you like animals and food or some weird nonsense.”

“Shove off,” Greg grumbles with a smirk.

Draco ignores them a moment, heart and eyes both captured by the vision of Harry standing with Weasley and Hagrid; his suit looks magnificent still, even in the large renovated ball room, and those green eyes light up when they glance Draco's direction.

He excuses himself from the Slytherins still caught up teasing one another in their ways, and he strides across the room, owning it and every set of eyes quite suddenly. Draco pauses in front of a very flirty Harry who gazes him over from head-to-toe.

“There you are,” Harry teases and holds out a hand. “Stunning, as usual.”

Draco smirks, ignoring the playful eye roll from Ron Weasley and the warm smile from Hagrid. He takes Harry's hand and pulls his Gryffindor close, hissing in Harry's ear, “You are _gorgeous_.”

“Can't wait for tonight, can you?” Harry whispers back, but he laughs softly and kisses Draco's jaw. Arms go up around Draco's neck, and Weasley and Hagrid back away for more drinks, leaving them briefly somewhat alone.

Draco groans quietly as Harry pushes up against him subtly, rubbing his erection to Draco's thigh. “You hypocrite. You don't want to wait, _either_.”

“Never said I didn't.”

“I want you to shag me all fucking night when we get out of here. Got that, _husband_?” Draco asks, teeth grazing Harry's earlobe.

Harry moans as reservedly as possible with people still around. “Yes, I _do_.”

“Good. Let's mingle and hurry this ridiculousness up.”

“Draco, it's our wedding dinner. Relax a bit. You're the one all about appearances.”

Draco knows. He's smiling. But his very excited cock doesn't care about tradition and things outside of closets and Harry's sexy bum right now. “Yes, Harry. However, sometimes there are greater needs to be met, and you know how social gatherings bore me.”

Harry flushes and kisses him once, whispering quickly, “Merlin, I love how driven you get,” as he leads a very smug Draco back to their chosen table.

 

 

 

iv

 

 

 

After some dancing, in which Harry's nervousness begs Draco to lead him elegantly about the room, and further dinner and well wishing, they portkey to the hidden magicked lodge in the Alps.

Draco checks them into their rooms as Harry makes sure their belongings are taken up, and he follows soon after, smiling warmly when he enters the suite.

Harry stands, still in his dashing green vest with his jacket off hanging up, looking out a large window into snow and many, many trees along the mountains.

It takes him ten steps to cross to him, and Draco's arms go about Harry's waist, nose under an ear burrowing as the fire crackles behind them.

“Everything you wanted?” Draco asks with a soft kiss.

Harry swallows loudly and just nods. Silent, yet so loudly emotional with it.

Draco presses more kisses around Harry's jaw from behind, rubbing their faces slightly together. He sighs, exhaling all the stress from the start of the morning with his father through the nerves of the wedding itself. “Anything I can ever give you, Harry, you'll get. All you need to do is tell me what you want. Understand? No withholding for yourself, no fighting me on paying groceries or other nonsense. You take care of things you wish, fund your own hobbies, and have your independence all you like...but let me spoil you, too.”

“You have, Draco,” Harry whispers quietly and holds his hands over Draco's crossed arms about him. “You could have said no. Could have just kept telling me it was silly or too romantic for you.”

“Yes, well, I've my reasons,” Draco responds firmly with a squeeze, “and I don't regret a thing.”

Harry smiles and glances upward, leaning closer. “I think...I think my parents would have loved watching us today.”

“No hate for marrying a Slytherin, you think?”

“Nah. Dad would have been more disturbed by you just being close to Snape than anything, had Snape lived, too.”

Draco understands why and slides a hand down to tap Harry's bum. “You Potters. All so jealous and possessive.”

“Yeah, so. It's a turn on for you.”

“Yes, yes it is.” He clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth, smirking. “Merlin knows all the mail I'll be getting for the next weeks will be piled up at home over this.”

Harry snorts and pushes back against his erection, rubbing just right. “We'll burn it all, if we must.”

“I like the way you think, Potter,” Draco teases and moves his hand from Harry's bum to Harry's front, cupping him. Lips tease along a jaw. His tongue rubs the bit of stubble already growing back there.

There's a moan. A sexy, _married_ moan from the both of them at once.

“Rip these bloody trousers off me,” Harry grumbles, thrusting forward against Draco's hand.

“Absolutely not, Potter. They look fantastic on you, and I'm demanding we trot them out once a month at _least_ for private fun.”

Harry snickers while Draco undoes the trousers and slides his hand inside. He takes in the sexy gasp in his ear, feels the cock he loves in his grip as he strokes it. Harry tilts enough to meet his lips, and tongues dance as Draco increases the pace, driving his wedded lover mad enough until he pulls back.

Harry whines at first in confusion.

“Thought I told you to fuck me,” Draco murmurs with a sly, Slytherin smile. He steps away, hand withdrawing from Harry's trousers, and watches as his partner loses his fucking mind.

A dark smile crosses Harry's mouth, his green eyes flame with familiar challenge, and Potter grabs him and walks Draco firmly into the nearby bedroom. They stand before the grand bed covered in warm red heavy blankets in its wooden old fashioned frame, and both hold their breath as the fire in that room, too, crackles away as if observing them with humor.

Draco slowly arches a brow.

Harry mimics him.

And then Harry shoves him firmly onto the bed, hands holding Draco's face for him to kiss over it repeatedly. Draco gasps out a laugh, palms sliding down Harry's back into his pants to grip his bum and pull them tighter together, rub them perfectly.

“Do...you think...any burn might be worth it, if...if we shag...on that rug by the fire?” Harry barely gets the words out, too caught up with interrupting himself by sucking on Draco's throat.

Draco's eyes roll back. “I don't even care. Do what you will, you marvelous fuck. I'm yours.”

“Oh, I know. Have been for a long time, haven't you?” Harry asks, brows bouncing knowingly.

He pinches Harry on the arse once, grunting, “Yes, and you were too fucking oblivious to notice, _thank Merlin_.”

Harry rolls his eyes jokingly, but rises up and starts divesting Draco of his handsome black suit, doing his best to kiss and concentrate. Draco lifts when asked and breathes out deeply once he's bared in the warm room.

He stretches back upon the covers, one arm behind his head, the other palm resting just below his navel, and his grey eyes drink Harry in as he watches Potter strip down by the fire. Draco chews his lip, eyeing that thick cock he wants. “You look delicious.”

“And you look like a prince,” Harry states, hands on his hips and green eyes roaming.

Draco chuckles and reaches to stroke himself once, loving the thrill that wraps down his spine as Harry's eyes widen watching it. “Your prince, mm?”

“Damn right,” Harry grins and moves forward until they are skin to skin, mouth to mouth, cock to cock and grinding.

Lips part, gasps breathe life into one another.

It isn't an eclipse, he knows, but it is a special kind of new alignment all its own.

Long minutes of snogging and touching turn into demanding fingers and teasing licking. Draco groans out low and soft, dragging out the noise the way Harry drags his tongue down Draco's abdomen over scars and already present love bites until he's swirled it across Draco's cock.

Draco ascends as Harry descends over him, wild dark hair wrapped around his fingers. His eyes shut, his mouth opens, and he is ethereal if but a moment in time.

After an entire day of waiting for this, it doesn't take Harry long to get Draco to come with his warm mouth, possessive grip, and manipulative tongue that's learned so much over the years.

He breathes heavily by the time Harry climbs back up his body, licking his reddened lips.

“Talented fucking bloke. _Mm_.”

Harry snickers. “Remember what you told George under the _Veritaserum_? I've got the best arse in the world and a mouth to die for, right?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely, Harry,” Draco sighs happily. “Did you catch me put the antidote I made into my flute at dinner, just in case?”

“Even though he swore during his toast that he was being good and all?”

They glance at one another, mutually amused and skeptical.

Then Draco grabs Harry for a hot kiss, far too familiar with echoes of his own taste by now to care as his tongue slides against Harry's seductively. He thinks of the parchment that's still in his pocket on the floor, the words there warming him again in his mind. “I kept your words with me, like always, today. It helped this morning.”

“Good. Hope that wasn't _too_ fucking awful. And those words are?” Harry asks, knowing damn well Draco remembers each one he writes by rote.

He smiles and repeats it exactly, “'Draco, I'm marrying you today. Though it technically just changes a few little things, it still seems momentous—and it is. Because you're you, and I'm me, and like we agreed upon years ago when we began together, today we take what has always been there between us into something higher. Love always, Harry.'”

Harry kisses him loudly. “I love that you do that. Who knew you had such good memory.”

“You're quite easy to please.”

“So.”

“A fly on your broom, holding your hand, remembering your notes...simple things, Harry,” Draco states, cupping Harry's jaw as he gazes closely. “Simple, but brilliant. And I've loved that about you for years. You take so little to be happy, and all I want is to drown you in wealth you make me feel.”

Harry stares into him, breathing shaky in a new way. He yanks Draco closer, pressing their brows together. “Draco, I....”

“Shh. Let's not acknowledge how much of a sap you've turned me into.”

The laugh against his cheek is reassuring.

Draco reaches, strokes his fingertips sensually through the chest hair and down a sternum. “Your turn. How do you want me?”

“Bent over,” Harry exhales, tongue swiping along his lower lip when Draco's palm circles his cock. “Then...you on top, later.”

They move together, Draco letting go of Harry to kneel, grinning at the vial of lube provided as a fucking gift on the nearby table. He grabs for it, reads the tag, and laughs his bloody head off.

“Who's that from?” Harry asks, kneeling behind him.

Draco stops cackling a moment, sighs, and reads, “'For my mate and his boy, so that they don't go closet hunting when they've got a fucking suite. This vial cost fifty galleons, Draco, so don't you dare use it outside the bedroom. It's worth every bit of gold, and I know because Ginny and I use a different mixture. I ordered this one specially crafted for something...personally reflective of you both. Congratulations, boys. Blaise.' How _thoughtful_ of him.”

Harry laughs, but eyes the vial a bit skeptically. “Fifty? Really? The hell else can it do?”

Draco pops the topper, takes a sniff, and blinks. “Holy fuck. It...it smells like...oh, that little shit. It smells like a mixture of our lube, a male aphrodisiac, and...I bet it....”

Curiously he touches his finger to the top, dabs it, and licks the pad of it. Harry eyes him like he's gone mad, but Draco just nods, smirking.

“What? What's it taste like?”

“Chocolate. That fucking cock. He thinks he's funny. Oh he's going to _get_ it.”

Harry, meanwhile, has fallen backward a bit laughing in disbelief. “Sometimes I really like him.”

“Yeah, well, your ex won't marry him yet, and he's trying to act as if it doesn't bugger him at all. He's full of Pureblood indignation, the poor sod.”

“Oh,” Harry says, brows up. “I don't see her toying people around, unless he's been ridiculous in how he asked.”

Draco's smirk is so evil. “Likely that, and she's kicking loads of arse in quidditch lately. I've won so many bets on her, and she knows it."

Harry leans forward and takes the vial, dabbing his fingertip for a taste, too. “Wow. That's strange. Have to commend him, though. It could _actually_ taste like _—_ ”

“—shh,” Draco cuts him off with a palm to the mouth. Quickly he pours some out and sets it away again, slicking the wonderful smelling spread all around Harry's cock.

Harry gasps, green eyes round.

Draco pauses in concern. “What?”

“It's...tingling. Warm. Weird.”

“We've got enough to _hopefully_ last us half this trip. I plan to use an equal amount,” Draco says alluringly, grey eyes sultry. And then he gets back to his knees and looks over his shoulder. “Well?”

Harry's round eyes fall into a smirk, and he licks his lip, cock pressing to Draco's arse with pleasure. They both inhale, but Draco grabs for the post, holding on as Harry strokes himself once for the slickness and then presses a finger inside. Draco's rocking slightly, head arched back some, eyes closed as Harry prepares him with the tingling, warming lube on his fingers, and then Harry is there, pushing, entering and so fucking fulfilling.

“ _Yes_ ,” Draco groans as Harry thrusts with a hold on his hips.

He bends forward slightly, naturally with the movements, hardening all over again while Harry kisses his spine and touches his upper arm in time with his thrusts. It's easy to tell when the bit of aphrodisiac in the brew kicks in because Harry becomes suddenly invigorated, desperate and slamming until he practically smashes Draco to his stomach half off the bed.

Draco's eyes pop open in equal parts shock and _yes_. And he holds on to the edge of the covers for dear fucking life. The sensations activate for him differently, tingling but also creating a hybrid feeling of rough sex and sensual magical massage inside of him, and it feels fucking fantastic.

“ _Fuck_ , Harry!” Draco shouts, knowing he's damn well going to get on his fucking metaphorical knees and _thank_ Zabini for this.

“I-I know! _Mmph_ , fuck, I _know_!”

The breaths choke out of his smiling, open mouth, and Harry grunts repeatedly behind him, harder than he's ever been and not slowing at all.

By the time Draco's come _twice_ , once dryly from the over stimulation alone _,_ Harry finally does. Potter holds tight, nails tearing a bit into Draco's skin and making him hiss in a lovely duality of pain and pleasure. He feels Harry release, hears his best friend and lover and other half scream with pleasure bordering on agony to finally get relief.

And then Harry collapses upon him, his poor heart beating so damn fast and heavily in his chest to Draco's back that Draco has legitimate worry for him.

“All right there, Harry?” he asks, breathy, arms hanging down.

Harry just shudders another minute against him as he slips out. “F-F-Fuck,” he says, voice cracking.

“Tell me about it,” Draco replies, wincing a little as he turns over to check Harry visually. He's _quite_ sore, but it's well worth it.

Harry lifts his head enough, sideways there upon the bed, and looks Draco over, too. “I hurt you?”

Draco laughs, stretching out gently. “Might have a new scar on my arse from your nails, but I suppose that's hot.”

“Shit. Sorry, Draco. Should I get my wand? If you're bleeding, I might.”

“It'll heal, Potter. Stop worrying, you fixating nag. I'm fine. Just...tender. Very. But so fine with that.” Draco swallows, throat dry. “And I'm parched. Exhausted. Merlin, I hate being at the mercy of that arsehole, but I actually owe him a thanks.”

Harry snickers and curls over his chest, green eyes barely open through slit lids. He smiles dreamily. “I wanna be there for _that_.”

“Sleep, you poor thing.”

“I'm...about to....”

Draco smiles to himself and strokes Harry's fringe from his eyes.

He thinks of how Harry looked coming down that aisle to him. He hears that little Ministry wizard pronounce them over the rush in his ears. He looks down at the rings on their hands.

And it hits him again that here they are, married.

 _Married_.

He's married to Harry Fucking Potter.

“We're married,” Draco announces, like he's checking the time.

Harry snorts, eyes shut, while Draco's fingers still pet him. “Yep.”

“ _Married_ , Potter.”

“Uh-huh.”

“As in that happened. All of it.”

“Totally, Malfoy. You're...stuck...with me, now....”

Draco leans enough to nuzzle Harry's cheek with his nose and kiss Harry's lips once, hearing the soft breathing, and he whispers with absolute overwhelming love, “Potter, I've been stuck with you since I was a child. Love you.”

When Harry doesn't respond, totally out, Draco kisses his brow; still sideways upon the bed, barely able to summon the energy, he reaches low for his wand to clean them quickly. Draco lets a heavy arm lie over Harry, who snuggles right into him soundly.

He smiles with his grey eyes closing, caresses the lightly tanned arm across his shoulder, and then falls asleep with the fire's light dancing upon the ruffled pale hair of the moon and the flushed, warm face of the sun.

 

 

 

 


	3. v-vii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> glimpses  
> ɡlim(p)s/Submit  
> noun  
> noun: glimpse; plural noun: glimpses  
> 1.  
> a momentary or partial view.  
> "she caught a glimpse of the ocean"  
> synonyms: brief look, quick look; More  
> verb  
> verb: glimpse; 3rd person present: glimpses; past tense: glimpsed; past participle: glimpsed; gerund or present participle: glimpsing  
> 1.  
> see or perceive briefly or partially.  
> "he glimpsed a figure standing in the shade"  
> synonyms: catch sight of, notice, discern, spot, spy, sight, pick out, make out;  
> archaic  
> shine or appear faintly or intermittently.  
> (Google)
> 
> All characters/Hogwarts, etc., belong to J.K. Rowling.

  
  
  
  


 

 

v

 

 

 

“Harry! Harry, get your ar—bum in here!”

“What? Draco, you're _fine_.”

Draco glares up at his spouse, arms full of wriggling, drooling baby Weasley in her tiny soft violet knitted jumper and under clothes. “She's lolling about all over me. I can't keep her still. If her head does the _bad_ thing—which she certainly keeps trying to do with this awkward motion of hers—then Hermione will hex me so badly your bum will get _mournful_ from missing me.”

“Seriously, you're doing just fine,” Harry grins as he enters their lounge with a bottle he carefully shakes in one hand. He bends for a moment, that soft dark hair teasing Draco's pale fringe and nose before it falls across Rose's small brow.

Draco attempts to ignore the little flutter in his chest watching Harry brush his lips over Rose's forehead while she makes all kinds of noises. He's so bloody nervous holding his own goddaughter that he can't stand it. Harry's much more a natural at this and has been since she was born six months ago. In fact, Draco much prefers watching _him_ interact with her the way he likes Harry playing with Teddy.

It's just...nice, for some reason.

“Now, I'm fairly sure Luna's back from seeing her father, so she'll be home if you need to pop in there,” Harry reminds him, bending at his knees to kiss Rose's cheeks while she grabs his hair and tugs.

Draco shudders. “How the _f—how_ was I talked into this again?”

Babysitting. A Malfoy babysitting. The current not-in-prison Head of the Malfoy family babysitting.

It would be a stain upon his reputation if he even cared anymore about that at this point.

“Because 'Mione has a case today where she must go investigate a wizard's home, Ron is working, and _I'm_ going to Apparate back to work for afternoon classes. Yes, I am, Rose, yes,” Harry coos and nuzzles the baby's neck while Draco sits her up more with her little squirming limbs and back to his abdomen on the chair.

When Draco just glares at him, uncomfortable, Harry snickers. “Tell him, Rose. Say, 'Draco, it's _your_ turn.'”

“The hell it is. I'm not her mother or father. And I'm not _you_ , taking care of her when the family's ill.”

“No, but you _are_ her other godfather, and you _were_ there when they were ill. You were just making sure they were all right and had the best broths and teas to recover with potions.”

“Yes, well, couldn't risk catching anything.” Draco glances down at the gurgling baby. “Or this one, I suppose.”

“You know you love her. I think you even called her cute when you held her the first time.”

“Correction, Harry, I said she's cuter than the Weasel and that that was a blessing.”

Harry rolls his green eyes, humored, and makes funny faces at Rose. Her stubby little fingers grab at Harry's cheek and lips. “You're cute, and you know it. Gonna be _all_ your mum and none of your dad, save for the red color. I see it coming.”

The thought is mildly terrifying when Draco tries to imagine an older Rose in school knowing everything and running about fearless, except for spiders. One look at the spider on the staircase has proven her inheritance from her idiot father and nearly rent Draco's hearing deaf.

His nose scrunches. “And that's even scarier. A Granger-Weasel. Imagine the poor sods she'll be running over someday. What if it's somehow still _us_ , Harry? I can't handle _two_ Hermiones.”

“Best get used to her, Draco. Ron and Hermione want more children.”

“Ugh. _This_ one was forced on me. I won't accept more. They can keep the rest.”

“Uh-huh.” Harry leans up, the smile curving his lips knowingly. Seductively. Bastard.

Draco frowns at it. “I'm _not good_ with children, Harry. I've told you this how many times?”

Harry tilts his face, green eyes roaming him gently. “Love, _you_ were the only one who could calm her down at George's wedding to Angelina. Something about you does it. Even Teddy, the few times he's stayed, remember?”

“Maybe it's because I scare them into silence, then sleep.”

“Or maybe it's because you try so hard when no one's looking,” Harry teases and moves inward for a kiss. “Maybe they think you're adorable.”

“Oh, shut up.” Draco grunts, caught and annoyed, but returns the kiss warmly, tongue tasting Harry's tea from a few minutes ago. “Don't get splinched in your worry. I'm not cleaning you up, even if we _are_ married.”

“I'm not worried, actually. I know you'll do just fine. It's four hours, Draco. You've faced worse.”

He's honestly not so sure. Yes, a Dark Lord smothered his home and life at one point, but Draco's never been responsible for anyone but himself before. Harry, at most, sometimes after their relationship began and they were married, but _never_ responsible for something so helpless. Thestrals like Sev could still kill if they had to do so when they were around at the Manor.

But babies...they're so...vulnerable. Little meat bags of shit and drool that sometimes look at him with big smiles and try to pop buttons off of his clothes with rough yanks.

“Harry,” Draco attempts one last time, grey eyes pleading.

“Love you,” Harry murmurs in reply, not the least bit falling for it. He hands Draco the bottle, and they both smirk as Rose starts grunting and reaching. “See? That'll occupy her for a time. Burp her. Let her play. She'll nap. You're fine. If you get _desperate_ , Floo to the Burrow, since your mother is still out. You know, I've never seen her so soft as she is with Rose.”

“Don't remind me,” he sighs, instantly recalling Narcissa's introduction to Rose and the smiles on his mother's face that he'd only seen in his early childhood.

Like a good son, Draco had recently encouraged his mother to take a much needed holiday for herself. And like a rotten son, he's nearly ready to demand her back to pawn Rose off to someone more qualified.

Harry straightens up, tugs his work robes on, and waves. “Got to go. Be back later. Don't worry 'bout dinner, since Ron's bringing stuff when he gets out.”

Draco blinks, grumbles that he hopes Weasley brings more than a loaf of bread while his stupid, handsome husband laughs and leaves the room. One glance down to the baby reminds him that Rose is still angling for the bottle in his free hand, and Draco sighs, turning her to rest in the crook of his elbow while he nudges the bottle toward her mouth.

“Go on. Take it,” he orders, nodding as she does. “Good. Baby thestrals are easier to feed than you are. There's so _much_ involved.”

He eyes the milk in the bottle with mild distaste, knowing _exactly_ where it's come from, and he thanks Merlin silently that Harry is a bloke.

Rose sucks away, and Draco panics as she gulps the milk down a little too fast.

“Slow it, child. Goodness, your mother left _plenty_ for you. I shan't explain _how_. It would give your tiny brain nightmares.”

He angles her a little more upward, hoping that might slow her down. Then he tries pulling the bottle back somewhat, and she almost glares up at him, he'd swear to it, for trying.

Draco nervously watches her finish drinking, and he hopes inwardly that he will get out of the duty of changing her. Spells keep Harry and himself quite clean during naughty enough things, but he's been expressly told that they won't work on babies with their loads of shit.

A shiver wracks through him, and he curls his lip. “I refuse to believe I was ever like this. I just came to life around age five. No nappies. No wetting myself. No baby drool. Malfoy children just poof into being perfectly, and that's that.”

Rose pushes the bottle from her face, milk dribbling down her little lips and chin, and Draco quickly tries to both set the bottle elsewhere and clean up the milk before it ruins his poor shirt.

He ends up missing the table, watching the bottle slide right off the edge in his haste to wipe her mouth with a handkerchief, and the topper drips onto the rug instead. Grey eyes roll to the ceiling as he begs any Black family ghost to just appear and help him should they exist.

“Fine, fine,” he growls when none appear.

Draco stands up, baby adjusting to his hip, and saunters over, righting the bottle on the small table and using the same handkerchief to dab the spot on the rug before pulling his wand out to use a brief spell afterwards.

Rose smacks her hands together excitedly, big blue eyes round on his wand.

Draco finds himself smiling, holding it up near her but not close enough for those grubby fingers to actually reach it. “Did you know that _this wand_ put an end to Voldemort himself? I know, I know, it's beautiful, isn't it? Just gorgeous. And your godfather Harry used it to stop the war and saved everyone. Wasn't that grand of him? Isn't he the big Hero?”

“Ha-Ha,” Rose babbles, and Draco lifts a brow.

To the uneducated around _this_ child, they'd imagine her making simple baby noises.

However Draco, unfortunately familiar with every noise her tiny body produces including screams and gas pains, knows better. This child is smart. He smiles. “Yes,” he tells her. “Harry. You adore him, I'm _well_ aware. _Everyone_ does.”

“Ha-Ha,” Rose says again, looking about.

Her big eyes wet when she notices Harry is gone.

Draco braces himself, and she wails.

“No! No, no. You stop that now,” he argues with her, voice crisp and firm. “That's enough, Rose.”

To his amusement the baby immediately quiets, staring up at him until she hiccups the slightest bit.

Fuck all. He's forgotten to burp her.

The hiccup noises get worse, and he shifts her to his shoulder, remembering watching Harry do this a few times. His hand lightly pats her back at first, so much so that he barely touches her in his fear of harming her.

But the noises don't stop, and he finally gives in, touching a bit harder with the flat of his fingers, then rubbing them in circles as she gives him a soft burp or two, grumbling into his shoulder until the hiccups stop.

Draco feels himself smile, feels that odd flutter in his chest, and eyes himself in the nearby mirror above the fireplace with a head shake at how satisfied he looks.

It all changes when she throws up the slightest bit, and he instantly becomes aware that he's forgotten the silly towel, too.

Mouth open in shock, brain running with curses, Draco just hisses under his breath, lifts her away, and stares at the small pile of white rolling down his shoulder. He looks to Rose, who sees the mess and looks to him, and they whine together adorably in their mutual disgruntlement.

 

 

 

vi

 

 

 

One change of clothes, a call for Kreacher, a cleaned up Rose, and a much needed fast sip from the tumbler in the cabinet later, Draco walks a crying baby back and forth before the fireplace in the living room, bouncing her gently and rubbing her soft hair.

“Come on. This worked before. You're fine, I swear. You're not dying or anything.”

Rose just cries more, and Draco finally hears her little stomach gurgle.

Gas pains, he knows.

Draco lifts Rose up a bit into the air to see her, and his veneer falls for the baby, if only for a moment, as he begs brokenly, “Please, Merlin, _please_ don't make me do that. Can't you hold it?”

But there's a warm, heavy feeling pressing suddenly to his fingers around her bottom, and Draco whimpers, holding her slightly away from him as the smell hits.

He wonders to himself, not for the first time since Rose was born, how the hell he has sex with Harry and never flinches, wonders how despite his best cleaning spells when he's endured the awkward after sex, post-Harry-inside-him moments in the bathroom over the years without a problem, yet _this_  is what makes him want to vomit. This is what makes him wrinkle his nose until he fears the movement is permanent.

“Your godfather has too nice a bum, that's how. It makes me forget,” Draco mutters to himself, holding Rose still away from him as he makes for the little area Harry had thoughtfully set up that morning in the guest room.

Upon one of the cleared off dressers there's a rolled out mat, the baby bag full of endless supplies thanks to a charm and one over-worrying Hermione, and Draco quickly lies Rose upon her back.

“Okay. Unsnap the outfit, then...then that,” he mumbles, reaching down for odd supplies Hermione buys from muggle stores. Something called wipes, some sort of powder, and a bag to throw the dirty nappy inside when he's finished to catch the stink.

Well. At least it won't spread through the house.

Even though he's watched Harry do this a few times, just _for_ events like today happening where Draco might need to help out alone, he's still blanking a bit at first. It takes him several minutes to get her arranged and cleaned up, then freshened with a new nappy and her little clothes snapped again.

But she looks _perfect_ when he's finished, because regardless of being flustered before enough to forget other details, Draco is not about to do her a disservice in this way.

He _can_ be competent at this, thank you. It's just not a life skill he'd prefer to ever know.

Rose coos up at him, smiling and happy at being clean.

“I can't blame you. I would feel relieved, too, if I'd shat that much in my pants,” Draco teases, reaching down with his fingers and letting her grip them. It strikes him again, as it often has these past months, that no matter how much bigger she has grown since her birth...she's still so small. So precious.

An oddly protective urge hits him harshly, and Draco lifts her to him, rubbing the circle patterns into her back as he walks her out of the room and towards the living room where Hermione thought to bring her rocking styled chair for him.

He sits down, and Rose rests in the crook of his arm again, playing with his free fingers.

“You _are_ cute,” he whispers, taking in her soft red hair and dimpled cheeks. “Don't tell Harry I said so, but it's true. I didn't think I'd like you at all, you know. Thought I'd feel...guilty, perhaps, for not doing so when you were called my goddaughter before your own birth. But look at you. You're not so bad, are you?”

Rose smacks her tongue to the roof of her mouth, giggles, and jerks his knuckle closer to chew upon it.

Draco snorts, but lets her do so until she bites a little too roughly, and then he tickles her stomach, smiling to himself. “I suppose _someone_ will have to teach you proper Pureblood traditions. Your stupid father won't, and your Weasley family have likely not cared to impart them already among your aunt and uncles.”

The chair slowly begins to creak as he rocks, not even noticing himself doing it there next to the warmth of the fire or the soft ticking of the clock just outside the doorway.

“Your first lesson, Rose, is to not drool down your own front. I know, I know, you're just a baby, _but_ it looks ridiculous, it's disgusting, and it's annoying to have all over _me_ , too.”

“ _Pbthhh_ ,” Rose says, tongue sliding across her small lips.

Draco arches a brow dramatically. “Was that baby _snark_? My, you learn fast. I'll teach you _that_ all you want, so long as you don't use it against me and exclusively do so against your father and Harry.”

She makes the noise again, giggles, and goes back to drooling over his fingers as he sighs, giving up with her distracted attention span.

“Well, I guess you're not ready quite yet, are you,” Draco murmurs, half of his mouth sliding up in a smirk. “You'll get there. I think Harry's right. I think you'll be like your mum.”

When Rose just babbles away, Draco lifts her so she stands upon his lap with her wobbly legs, holding her securely for him to look her in the face.

“Your mum is a _very_ strong woman, Rose. Brilliant. If you get even half her talent and a bit of your aunt's independence and your uncle George's cleverness, you'll be _so_ prepared to take on the world. You could likely even make Minister of Magic,” Draco tells her with an affirmative nod. He leans closer, brushes the tip of his nose to her brow, and whispers, “But let's not tell them I said so, mm? Just keep that between us, won't you?”

“Aaah,” Rose replies, smacking her lips together and reaching to touch his face.

Draco's lashes bat at the fingers, trying to protect his poor eyes from being plucked out, and his lips shut tight as she digs in there, too.

He stares into those big blue eyes, watching her light up with happiness before she taps his cheeks with her palms and laughs loudly.

And he laughs, too, behind his still tightly closed lips, the sound coming out like a soft exhale with a rumble in his throat.

“Ha-Ha,” she repeats as he rests her back to his arm.

“Ha-Ha isn't here right now. He's teaching children to fly. One day he'll teach you, too.”

Rose glances about the room from her spot against his side and arm, then reaches at various objects too far from her location. Draco names them off, humored: table, rug, vase, painting, mirror, fire.

She then lurches her arm up higher, laughs, and says, “Ha-Ha!”

Grey eyes follow the line of her reach. They soften.

“Yes, Ha-Ha,” Draco replies, watching himself kiss Harry in their wedding photograph above the mantle. His heart aches in a good way as he quietly adds, “Your Ha-Ha is a good man, Rose. An annoying Gryffindor at times, but a good man. I hope for your sake you end up a Ravenclaw and break the family's expectations.”

“Aaah?” Rose asks, looking confused and sweet.

He just shrugs, stretching his legs as the chair keeps rocking back and forth soothingly. “Or even Hufflepuff, why not. Just not another lion in the family. There's far too many of you to count, and I'd rather diversify it _somehow_.”

“Aaaah.”

“Yes, 'aaaah.' Indeed. You could always be Slytherin and make me _very_ proud, too, but I think your father might panic if you're Sorted that way. Superstitious buffoon. Don't you ever let him make you believe my House is awful or evil. We're just brilliant, clever, and a bit mischievous when it comes to putting ourselves and our own health above some other things. We're smart. We put _family_ first, Rose, where your Ha-Ha used to put the world before anything.”

When all she does is sit patiently, almost waiting, he grins.

“He doesn't do that anymore, though. I snap my fingers like this,” he says, then cracks his fingers loudly in front of her, watching her jump, laugh, and grab both of them with her hands. “I do that, and he stops being ridiculous and thinks of himself and me as he _should_ do. It's helpful, isn't it?”

The baby sucks at his fingertip, then lets it go to yawn.

Draco's mind calms with the flicker of fire, the creak of wooden chair, and tick of familiar clock. His grey eyes still dance over that portrait, very much in love with it.

He snickers to himself as Rose plays with yet another button on his wrist's cuff, no doubt one that will need replacing as well. His feet keep pushing the rhythm of the chair, and slowly, but surely, Rose begins to quiet down and grows heavier, just as his own body feels.

Barely conscious, he glances to be sure she's safe as she grunts unhappily, wiping an eye. Draco shifts Rose, resting her to his chest and neck, and when he feels that little face burrow into his throat, he closes his eyes again.

Draco just rocks. Gently. Slowly. Without interruption.

He feels her calm, heavy body, notes the fingers clenching his collar warmly.

And when her breathing changes to something deeply restful, he slightly turns, kisses her cheek, and tells her what a beautiful little star she's going to be.

 

 

 

vii

 

 

 

“Draco.”

“Mm.”

“Malfoy, wake up.”

“....”

“Hey, Ferret Face, give me my kid,” Ron Weasley states right into his fucking ear, startling the hell out of Draco as he sits forward, snapping out of dreamless sleep.

Draco blinks rapidly, glances around Ron, and notes the clock.

They've slept almost two hours.

Rose still snores a little curled into his chest and neck, and Draco waves Ron off nearby. “She's still sleeping,” he says, pointing out the obvious.

“Well, I've got dinner. Guess I can set that up right quick first.”

“Break my Italian dishes, Weasley, and I'll break _you_.”

“You have an unnatural attachment to your kitchen,” Ron mutters, but leaves with a brief pat to Rose's back and heads down the hallway.

Draco sneers at the empty doorway. “Of course I do. I _cleaned_ it when I moved in. What a bloody state that was.”

He rubs his eyes with one palm, the other holding Rose to him still. Draco winces a little when he feels a bit of drool go down his throat towards his shirt, but his heart tells his brain to get over it and let her sleep a little longer before handing her over.

Because Harry's right. Draco _does_ seem to have an odd gift for making children go to sleep, and it's always _so_ peaceful when they're snoozing away. So mercifully _quiet_.

Ten minutes later Ron comes back into the room, brows rising. “Still asleep?”

“She had a very talkative afternoon. It tuckered her out, apparently. Wonder where she gets _that_ from,” Draco chuckles lowly, and Ron mimics him with a knowing look.

Weasley sits on the nearby lounge chair Draco was on earlier. “Best watch yourself, Draco.”

“Mm? Why?”

“Harry tell you she wants more?”

“Yes. But those are _your_ children, and you're both mad.”

Ron laughs lightly, nodding. “True. But she's getting it into her head that _you_ need one, too. Everyone needs kids. Poor Nev's begging me by _owl_ to keep her off Luna's back, since they're really not ready for that.”

Draco blanches, as expected. “Ugh. No. I'm fine enough having this one around, and Teddy once in a while. I _like_ the time to myself, to ourselves. I don't want to have to fight for my partner's attentions constantly.”

“Fair enough. I don't know how to explain it, though, Malfoy. Having a kid just...changes you. Really, it does.”

“Good for you, Weasel. You need some change.”

“Hey.”

Draco grins impishly. “You _barely_ waited a year after your own marriage to knock her up.”

Ron flushes very maroon next to the fire. He bends closer, looks between Draco and his daughter, and mumbles around one hand as if to keep a secret from Rose, “Yeah, well, it wasn't _intentional_ , okay?”

“Oh, I know. Heard all about it during one of her hormonal moments.”

“Blimey. Sorry about that. She got a bit rough sometimes.”

“And you're wanting to do that _again_ , someday?”

Ron shrugs in his uniform of dark clothing. Yawns and stretches. “Yeah. Worth it.”

Draco stares at him. “You're _mad_. Even coming from a large family, you're mad.”

“So what? Everyone thought you and Harry were mad for ever dating, let alone anything else,” Ron reminds him with a small smile. “Never know what'll make you happy.”

“Oh, but I do. I've a list, and I'm not ashamed of it.”

“Figures. What about this heir business, though?”

“I don't know,” Draco admits. When Rose grumbles and stretches slightly against him, he pats her gently until she calms. He sighs moodily. “You have to understand, Weasley. I was always expected to marry some Pureblood witch and have children, really against my will. There was never a question of _not_ having an heir until Harry happened.”

Weasley gives him a sympathetic look and nod, bending to rest his elbows on his knees. “Guess I can understand that. But...in case other stuff holds you back, like my worry did me when 'Mione was pregnant...you should know you're really not bad at this.”

“I'm not?” Draco asks, surprised at the honest, sincere compliment.

“If you were, you wouldn't be holding my daughter,” Ron says, eyes glinting darkly a second before lightening up again. “And you wouldn't be trusted as a godfather.”

Draco rubs the bridge of his nose against Rose's head as she climbs up him slightly in her sleep.

They sit in companionable silence for another few moments until she starts to grumble louder, then leans back into Draco's hold. He ignores Ron long enough to brush a kiss over her face, then pushes from the chair to stand. Weasley comes up, smiling, and Rose happily coos to her father when she notices him standing nearby.

“Who's my little girl?” Ron asks, grinning as he extends his hands.

“Da!” Rose giggles and reaches, and Draco passes her over, relaxing his tired arm in silent gratitude.

“Was she all right for you?”

Draco grimaces and looks down his front in the mirror to see the bit of wetness on his shirt. “Vomited on one shoulder. Apparently drooled down my throat. I changed her once. About to change my shirt twice.”

“Not a bad afternoon then,” Ron decides, leaving loud kisses on Rose's cheeks as she squeals.

Draco nods and exits the room, going up two flights of stairs in 12 Grimmauld Place to his bedroom. He peels his second shirt off that day, sighs, and grabs for something simple and soft—one of the thin long sleeves without buttons.

The black material rolls down his pale, scarred chest, and Draco closes his eyes.

He hears talking echo up the staircase.

When Draco makes it back down, he smells the chicken, rosemary and other seasonings wafting up from the kitchen stairs, and it almost makes him want to drool, too.

Grateful Weasley thought to pick up something _delicious_ , Draco strides down to it. Harry's there, robes already off of him likely at the parlor, and he's now dividing up portions of roasted red potatoes and chicken thighs on plates.

“Heard you had a sleep,” Harry comments upon seeing him, the green eyes amused.

Draco moves past the table and slides his arms briefly around Harry's middle, lips pressing to a warm cheek. “Shame it wasn't with you.”

“Night's still young,” Harry whispers, winking as he looks backwards.

Draco steps away enough to help set the table with plates Harry hands him, and Ron stays near the Floo entrance, bouncing Rose as he tells her to wait for her mummy about to come through.

He watches them, barely aware of the smile on his face.

And Harry turns his chin and kisses him hotly, distracting him entirely.

“Don't look at that, Rosie. Don't want you knowing what kissing is until you're thirty. No boys until you're forty. Then you can get married.”

“Ron, don't be evil,” Harry calls, laughing.

Draco agrees, teasing, “She'll have a girlfriend, now that you say that.”

Weasley goes pale. “Oh, bloody hell. I didn't think about that. Okay, Rose, no boys _or_ girls until you're way old enough. Got that?”

Harry rolls his eyes and gets some wine glasses out. “Don't curse, Ron. You know Hermione hates it when you do in front of Rose.”

“What she can't hear won't hurt her,” Ron grunts just as his wife comes through the suddenly green flames of the Floo and yells at him for cursing. “What! You didn't hear that.”

Hermione laughs loudly and takes Rose, kissing all over her cheeks. “I didn't have to hear it, Ron. It's something you _constantly_ do.”

“Meh.”

“Mm, dinner smells wonderful. Doesn't it, sweetie?” Hermione asks Rose, grinning and snuggling her daughter with love.

Draco rolls his eyes, but it's with care at the affection and not annoyance.

They share a nice, yet awkward dinner where Weasley's warning comes into effect. Harry chokes on his spoonful of sauce and potatoes when Hermione suggests having a surrogate or adoption, and Draco leans across to whack Harry on the back and with a blush tells her to shut up, lest Harry dies before dessert.

And when the Weasleys leave later with everything for Rose, guest room cleaned and empty of baby items, Draco lays across their bed and feels Harry fall down next to him.

A broad hand slides over his chest, goes down his belly, and rests over his trousers to cup him.

Draco snorts, eyes shut. “Someone didn't eat enough tarts and wants more sweets, mm?”

“You _know_ that black tight shirt always gets me hot.”

He grins at the ceiling. “That I do, Potter.”

Harry climbs over him, biting on his ear and warming Draco's veins properly with arousal. “Did you have a good time today?”

“She survived despite vomiting on me. I wanted to die when I changed her, but I got through it. The _stench_.”

“Oh, it's quite awful, I agree. But did you have a _good time_ , Draco?”

“Yes,” Draco admits, grabbing Harry's arse for a squeeze. “She's...fine when she's calm or asleep.”

His Chosen One sits up straddling him, looking fucking dashing in the fire's light. Draco drinks him in, his Hogwarts professor's shirt, his dark glasses and bright green eyes, his soft lips parting.

Harry smiles, fingers interlacing with Draco's. “I knew you would.”

“Like you know everything, don't you, Potter?”

“Just about.”

“Shove off.”

Draco watches Harry's expression slip into one of shy thoughtfulness, and he knows. His gut churns a little as they stare one another down, Hermione's words seeming to jump between them even now with their suggestive questions.

“We've enough responsibilities, don't we?” Draco asks seriously. “And who would we trust, and how would it happen? Or what could we do otherwise? And _should_ we? Harry, I'm _very_ possessive of our time alone. I think I've earned it after all the hell we've been through. We're not even married a year. This is pointless to talk about happening _now_.”

His spouse nods tiredly. Understandingly. “I know. As to the rest...I've no idea. Those are questions we'd have to consider and find answers for ourselves, if we want, in the future.”

“I'm not sure I want to.”

“That's fine. I'm not entirely sure either. It's just...interesting to think about, though, isn't it?”

Draco exhales. Feels Harry squeeze his fingers reassuringly. “Yes,” he replies. “I guess so.”

Harry rubs against him, groaning. “No pressure.”

“I know, Harry. I just... _you_ are great with children, I'm still not sure about them, and I don't want to...hold you back, possibly, from something you want,” Draco explains, looking away and feeling awful. What blood had eagerly gone to his groin has shifted with the mood, and he softens despite Harry still sitting atop him.

Firm hands frame his face, make him look up as Harry shifts and stares right into his eyes. “You, Draco, are _everything_ I want. You're not holding me back from anything. I've two godkids, more on the way in the future possibly, and I can handle that.”

“It's nice for them to go home at the end of the day, isn't it,” Draco murmurs, kissing Harry as Potter presses for his lips, feeling somewhat better.

“Yeah, it is.” Harry sits back and bites his lip. “ _I'm_ not holding you back, right? Your family....”

“No. You're not in the way, but I just don't want to talk about it again now.”

“All right.”

Harry's uncertainty still hangs about, weighing his expression down, and it concerns him as much as it annoys him. So Draco rolls them suddenly, getting a small _umph!_ out of Potter when he hits the bed. Draco's hands run methodically down and around, lifting Harry's thighs while he sucks at Harry's throat, working that blood back to his cock, changing the mood back to where he wanted it. Harry's legs slide over his shoulders, and Draco bends him forward for better access to Potter's jaw to kiss.

Harry moans, and as always, Draco feels the pride race through him at the sound.

“More,” Harry demands, greedy hands digging into Draco's back.

Draco laughs, in love with this side of his spouse. “More _what_ , Potter? Use your words, you mongrel.”

Harry's eyes are laughing when he sneers and replies, “I want _more_ of you.”

It seems Draco blinks and they're undressed with the rate Harry moves when he's got invested interest in getting them naked. And then Draco is lying upon his back, mouth open in ecstasy with Harry lubing him up after a brief lick or two.

Grey eyes stare through slits worshiping Potter as he slowly clambers above Draco, positioning his long cock for Harry to penetrate himself. Draco's chest rises and falls faster, lower lip full and parted watching the display, cock feeling encompassed in warmth from Harry's wonderful bum and thighs bound by Harry's firm legs around him.

Draco shoots him a sultry look and holds his hands up for Harry to take after he situates himself comfortably.

And then that Malfoy pride comes roaring out as he watches Harry move upon him, watches himself disappear and reappear just enough in a mesmerizing cycle, hears Potter groan with his warm green eyes clenching shut a second to absorb it all better.

He carefully balances their hands low for Harry to leverage against, pushing for rhythm, and eventually lets go when Harry starts chewing his lip above Draco and moves harsher, slower, and with determination he's famous for in _two_ areas of his life that Draco knows.

“Beautiful,” Draco tells him, smiling as the green eyes barely open to smirk down at him.

Harry presses his palms to Draco's chest and, with a laugh, loses himself.

Meanwhile, Draco's eyes flutter in the sensations Potter continues to create, even gripping him with his muscles here and there tighter when he flexes.

Rosy between the fire and arousal, Harry is all kinds of heat—it shows shining in his skin, glows in his face and eyes, rings his lovely mouth red, and strains his thighs with desperation. Draco gives in, grabs Harry by the hips, and helps him move faster, growing even harder at Harry's immediate shifting to stroke himself, as if he's as possessive of his own body as he is of Draco's.

“Merlin, you always feel so good,” Harry sighs, head falling back. “I love having you inside me.”

Draco nods against his pillow, feeling the tightening and euphoria starting to combine together. “Best surprise of my life, Harry, discovering that.”

“I want _more_. Not enough,” his love grunts, pausing in his motions. “Draco.”

Draco gauges Harry once briefly for safety, then moves gently, lifting Potter off a moment while Harry hisses with displeasure. But he's a good Malfoy, and Draco puts Harry upon his back once more, lifts those strong legs high, and returns in a sliding forward motion inside with nothing more than a showman's confident gaze.

Harry quivers and leans, mouth opening repeatedly over his own as Draco slams into Harry, rocks into him with everything he has—all his unspoken wants, needs, and questions in their still on going lives.

The sounds Harry makes weave through him just as the exhilaration of making love does, wrapping about him like a cocoon of sorts that he will break and emerge from, bright like moonlight with Harry holding his face for hot passing kisses.

“All right there, Harry?” he asks when his partner flinches slightly.

“Y-Yeah. I think you found my sore spot from class today.”

“Where?”

“Lower back. One of the kids got too nervous and flew into me accidentally.”

Draco chides at him as he pauses and slides his hands past Harry's upper thighs and around his back. Fingers rub gently, lips tenderly distract, and Harry sighs in relief.

“Better?” Draco inquires, relieved as well when Harry nods silently.

Harry smiles and kisses the tip of his nose and rests one hand upon Draco's hair. “You're not done yet. Fuck me. I can handle it.”

“You cheeky fuck,” Draco grins widely and slams back into Harry, not relenting the pace, depth, or roughness of his hips' actions with the challenge. “You want fucked, you'll _get_ fucked, Harry.”

“Good, _darling_. Don't disappoint.”

“Really, Potter? _Now_ you do that?”

“Totally, dearest.”

“You're not that cute, arsehole.”

“C'mon, _babe_ , it's hot and you know it,” Harry laughs in his ear, licking and sucking at the lobe.

Draco's body shakes as he pushes himself to his limit in this miniature competition, goes beyond hearing the sounds of their flesh meeting and the bed groaning and only hears his own heartbeat, his own blood racing through his ears. The mountain of glorious pressure and want approaches like he's recklessly flying right into it.

Harry's so fucking seductive with those looks on his face, with the arch of a brow and the heat of his green eyes, with the wide smile taking over his open, confident mouth. He touches himself roughly in time with Draco's pounding, gasping, “How...how do you _do_ this to me? It's like you _own_ a p-part of me every time.”

His breaths come fast, and he shakes his head and mutters, “What you give me, I take. And I will _always_ take it, you sexy bastard, because I'm selfish and you're _mine_ , Harry.”

“Y-Yeah...I...oh, fuck, don't stop, love! Your fucking cock is amazing.”

“So _chatty_ today.”

“It's _working_ ,” Harry explains with a broken up chuckle. “When you...you get...all riled up or ch-challenged, you.... Ah! Ah, yes, _yes_!”

Draco laughs, knowing exactly what Harry means as Harry cries out, shouts his name, his free hand that had been touching himself bringing himself to the edge with Draco's final thrusts precisely hitting Harry's favorite angle.

It's his favorite, too.

“ _Mmmph_! Right...there,” Draco moans, breaking apart within and without, peaking with his hips screaming at him from the constant pace, his lower back crying out with the odd angle as he freezes up for the heavy orgasm to smash into and through him.

Draco's legs and arms tremble with mild overuse, but he stays where he is, warm inside of Harry and wet with a tongue lapping sweat from his jaw to his mouth.

“Ahhh,” he sighs, finally slipping out and letting Harry's undoubtedly sore legs fall around him gently. Draco rests over Harry's chest, registers the warm, mindful fingers scratching at his scalp and tracing feather-light patterns over his shoulder.

“So sticky,” Harry mumbles below him. “Need a bath.”

“Agreed.”

They lie there to cool off, though, and Harry kisses along his crown, teasing, “Ron mentioned he found you passed out with Rose sleeping on you.”

“Yes, well, good for me. She wouldn't stop talking about _you_.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. 'Ha-Ha.' That's your name, apparently.”

“Cute.” Then, softly, “Know what I've heard her call you when you don't pay attention?”

Draco blinks against Harry's skin. “She calls me things?”

Harry nods above him, chin brushing his forehead. “Uh-huh. 'Ja-Ja.' I think she's trying to say 'Dra' but she can't yet. Hermione thought it was adorable, and she refused to let Ron call you it on purpose.”

“Thank Merlin for that,” he replies, exhausted, but smiles all the same imagining Rose babbling after him while he pays no attention.

“Ron then offered to teach her to call you Co-Co, and I hexed him for a minute because you almost walked into the room hearing him say so when you returned from the loo.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome. He said you've made me too Slytherin when I fixed him, and I said I just stick up for my spouse over my best mate when I can, and he'd best get used to that.”

“And that's why I love you. So bloody thoughtful sometimes.”

“Love you, too.”

They both laugh, take turns using the shower instead of the bath for time's sake, and climb back into bed with a lower fire crackling. Draco curls behind Harry, arm over his waist like it often is at night, cock against Potter's nice bum. He presses soft whispers of kisses across Harry's shoulder and rests his face there, looking toward the fire and up above at their very first picture together that that awful Skeeter witch took.

No matter what happens in the coming years, Draco knows that they'll always be like this. Grounded and open, balanced and understanding one another as best they can despite the minor arguments. He knows it's likely Rose and whatever other children his mates have will be in and out of his life. And he lets himself wonder for a moment what it would be like should they ever somehow have a brat all their own running up and down the stairs.

His heart still doesn't know. His brain is quite livid and panicked at the very thoughts.

He doesn't want his _own_ childhood to repeat with forced molding.

But, like his entire life with Harry Potter has been, Draco is certain of one thing: Regardless of what choice they might eventually make, their lives will always continue to be full of its own kind of adventures.

After all, it's a big sky up there.

And there's lots of stars to wonder about.  
  


   
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I can really focus working on a new Drarry story. Whew.  
> Hope you enjoyed these for fun. :)

**Author's Note:**

> List of suggested music:  
> "Storms of September" -Skyhill  
> "Constant Craving"-k.d. lang  
> "Midnight Sun" -The Sounds  
> "New Constellation" -Toad the Wet Sprocket  
> "Swing Life Away" -Rise Against


End file.
